[h3]1st of January, 1940[/h3] [i]7:30AM (0 VMT), Royal Palace Complex, Verveaux[/i] Overcast, winter's promised snow had not come to Verveaux and winter would soon come to an end, it was grey outside, the color that characterized most of that winter and rain fell steadily, with little hope of relenting. Voltus was never really perturbed by the weather, he spent most of his days inside, regardless of what was going on weather-wise, too much work for him to go out and enjoy himself. He sat at his desk, framed by clouds that forced their way through the massive window behind him, rising like towers on either side of him, stacks of paper work stood unending, it seemed that no matter how many papers he went through, the stack didn't get any smaller. Voltus yawned, leaning back into his seat and running a hand through his white hair, the leather seat rose around him as he sunk into it; he spent another night with minimal sleep, ever since he was coronated it seemed that it was all he got. As his eyes flickered shut, a knock came form the direction of the door, annoyed, he opened them to see the door creaking open, through the small gap his wife poked her head through. His wife was a northern princess, she was the youngest daughter of one of the chiefs that stirred The Frost Wars of the previous decades; at first he never intended on marrying her, mostly because he had never met her. A few days after his coronation (1937) he went to the north to oversee disarming the rebels and finding peace, he and his envoy toured the northern towns and cities, negotiating with the tribal leaders in power; though it seemed that everyone had different criteria for peace. It was on the last of these diplomatic meetings did he meet Marie, after another stalled meeting, he decided to step out of the venue for fresh air and there she was, returning from wherever she was. At first sight his heart had stopped, he was taken so violently by her that he had to force himself to breath; she was without a shadow of a doubt the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, she was skinny, even that was clear from under the furs she wore, her arms and legs were long and fit perfectly with her spindly body, her hair was as black as pitch and her skin was pale and translucent, most would have thought her sickly but when she walked past him and smiled her pearly smile at him, he knew he was in love. So he came to visit the chief at an almost weekly basis, at first he only saw Marie briefly but as negotiations carried on and he spent more and more time there, he got to know her and by the time the anniversary of his coronation came around, he had married her; in the end, the marriage seemed to be what everything was waiting for, stalled negotiations installed and reached conclusions with such brevity that they were all rapped up within a time most politicians thought impossible. But most importantly to him, he had gained the object of his desire. Marie pushed the door and it yawned open effortlessly, she stood in the doorway, wearing a plain, white dress. She leaned against the door frame and folded her arms across her chest, giving him a small smile, "Ustala?[sup][1][/sup]" Voltus nodded, drained, and sat up a bit straighter, his wife crossing the room to his side and planting her bony self onto his lap, she sighed into his chest. "Mayhaps, if you stay bed more, you would not as tired be, no?" Voltus snorted in amusement. "Dorogaya..[sup][2][/sup]" he mumbled, resting his chin on her shoulder, "If the opportunity presents itself I would surely take it unto myself as an obligation to spend more hours in bed, however such an opportunity has yet to make itself known." he placed a gentle kiss on her jaw, "Now go and enjoy the day, do not feel compelled to remain cramped in this room among the papers and I." Marie reached behind her and squeezed Voltus' arm, before levering herself off his lap and heading to the doors. But as she approached the large oak doors, she stopped and looked over her shoulder. "Just.. Do not work yourself to bone, if you need me, I in drawing room." With that, Marie stepped through the doors and clicked them shut, Voltus leaned back into his seat and let out a long, exasperated sigh. "Back to work." [center]--------------------[/center] [i]7:30PM (0 VMT), West Wing - Royal Palace Complex, Verveaux[/i] The west wing of the palace is considered the private quarters of the royal family, only a select few are allowed in, trusted servants, guards who had proven themselves to be loyal to the throne and visiting guests whom the sovereign trusts enough. It is also the smallest wing but by no means does that mean it is small, The wing has one hundred rooms, of which eighty are guest rooms and ten chapels, the remainder being two great halls and seven living rooms, the final a massive library and the sovereign's personal study. The living room was warmed by the crackling embers of a blazing hearth, the amber light dancing on the gold painted ceiling and refracting splendidly through crystal chandeliers. The furniture was heavy and substantial but still comfortable and cosy, made of solid oak and smooth, soft-to-touch silk. The living room in question was known amongst the palace staff as The Nest, as it was the farthest living room and the one most frequented by the royals, for its comfort and seclusion, as well as relative security. The Tsar was sprawled out on a chaise-lounge, his thick black hair in disarray and his formal clothes cast into a corner so he was just in a linen undershirt and his underdrawers. He lay behind his wife, the pair cramping themselves on the seat that was only meant for one to rest on. The Tsarina was resting her head against her husband's chest and was reading a book, flipping the pages ever so gently and murmuring softly to herself the words from the page. "Chto eto govorit, dorogaya? [sup][3][/sup]" she asked, pointing at word in her book. The Tsarina had difficulties reading Ventian, she came from a northern tribe where they spoke and read a different language all together. She had never taken the time to learn to read Ventian, she never realized that she might marry a king though. Voltus kissed the base of her neck, gently and she broke into a fit of blushing and giggling, before she smacked his shoulder lightly, "davay, chto on govorit? [sup][4][/sup]" The Tsar smirked and leaned in over her head so he could read the word she pointed out, his smirk turned into a smile. "Quintessential," he said with ease, much to his wife's bewilderment, "If you want to get better at Ventian, endeavor to speak it as much as you read it, only a handful know some of the northern languages and it's safe to assume that even less can speak Tzan [sup][5][/sup]." Marie frowned. "You know... my speaking isn't best." she replied meekly and it was true, she had a heavy northern accentuate made her speak from the back of her mouth, making her have to form words slowly and carefully to avoid making embarrassing mistakes. "It can only get better, dorogaya." he teased. Marie smacked his shoulder again. "eto udivitel'no, chto dazhe tsar' mozhet byt' mudak. [sup][6][/sup]" Retorted Marie, as she snuggled further onto his body. "But you still love me." Voltus began to kiss the queen's neck and her urge to resist slowly weakened. She closed her book and threw it into a corner, instead grabbing her husband's head and pushing his lips onto her's. Even though she instigated the move, she gasped and for Voltus, it was nice to know he could still take her breath away. In the midst of the heated kiss, someone knocked on the door and great reluctance, Voltus pulled himself away from his wife's lips. "I'm a bit busy!" he called out to whom ever was interrupting his time with his wife. "It's 7:30, Your majesty." Replied muted voice from beyond the heavy wooden doors. Voltus checked his watch and sighed, it was 7:30. He looked back down at his wife and called to the man. "Give me a moment." Voltus planted his lips heavily onto Marie's lips and yearned for more but puled away as abruptly as he started, "I must go my love, but when I return expect more then just kissing." His wife grinned. "Sounds... Nice." she said. Voltus clambered clumsily out of the couch and the queen returned to her book, he quickly dawned his clothes and threw over them his trench coat and emerged into the bright, electric lit hallway. "I'm sorry if I intruded on anything," said the man as Voltus shut the door behind him, "You might want to wipe the lipstick off your face before we proceed." The man laughed and Voltus smiled as he wiped it off with a handkerchief. The man who dared talk to the Tsar in such a way was Petrov Zamili, a talented communications specialist and close friend of Voltus. The pair had first met when Voltus decided to start a project that required Petrov's certain skill set, the Tsar wanted to have his own radio program for some reason. The program started at eight and carried on to eight-fortyfive, it was basically him talking, nothing patriotic or speech but more conversational, talking with people about his childhood and his life in general and his opinions on things that should have not even mattered to him but did, like a play or a book. It was an opportunity for him to connect with his people that no other Tsar or Tsarina had before. He accepted calls and read letters, it made the people think him not so much as an imposing figure but more as a tangible person that they could relate to. [center]--------------------[/center] [i]7:59PM (0 VMT)[/i] The broadcast room was in the attic of the west wing, along with all the broadcasting equipment and an archive of previously broadcasted segments and music disks. At the heart of the system was a small, cubical like room the size of an elevator, it had plush walls to stop echoing and a comfortable chair sat in front of a microphone. After such a long time of doing this, Voltus still had butterflies in his stomach when he sat in that chair, waiting for the red, 'On Air' light came on, he knew that millions of people would be tuning in to listen and he didn't want to slip up. The red light slowly began to blink, counting down from ten to zero, from beyond a pane of glass Petrov had put on his headphones and had started some soft music to play in the background. Voltus put on his headphones and the light stopped blinking, he was on air. "Good evening, friends," he began, "You may have noticed form the lead in but if you haven't, listen closely. Yes, We've changed the music. Special thanks to Skya and The Wayside Bunch for sending me their record, for the listeners at home Skya and her gang operate out of a garage in Dovostok province, they are relatively new to the music scene so bid them good luck..." As the Tsar spoke almost everyone in Ventium was tuning in, listening intently to his words and the way the music complimented how he spoke. Even in far flung dominions and colonies, people were listening in, Voltus wanted to make sure that no Ventian was missing out or anyone for that matter. [center]--------------------[/center] [i]8:45PM (0 VMT)[/i] "Alas dear listeners, We've come to the end of our little conversation and I'm sad that we have to part so soon..." He paused and poured himself a cup of water and he did, a call came in, he picked up the receiver and spoke around the cup, "you're on the air, this is Voltus." The first thing Voltus heard was a gaggle of tinny, high pitched giggles, he cringed and raised his headphones off of his head, turing around to see Petrov doing the same from beyond the window behind him. After a few moments a little voice peeped through the speakers in his head set. "Hello?" "Hello to you too," replied Voltus, grinning, the voice seemed to belong to a little girl "What's your name sweetie?" "Claudia." She said, provoking titters from the other little girls around her. "So what is your question, Claudia?" Voltus asked, leaning back into his chair and taking another sip from his cup. "I don't have a question your highness, I just wanted to say hello." Voltus chuckled softly and put his glass down. "Well in that case, Hello Claudia, and sadly bye bye." "Bye!" she called though the phone, shortly after Voltus heard the receiver click back into it's holder, ending the call. "Well friends, I bid you all goodnight and sweet dreams, and remember to head down to Davostok this winter, where Skya and The Wayside Bunch will be preforming all season long in Le Grande Hotel. Night all." Voltus looked up at the light as the music in the background slowly faded, when the music had stopped, the light had switched off and Voltus let out a long, tired sigh. "I'm going to go get a drink your majesty, care to join me?" asked Petrov, as he turned off the broadcasting equipment, Voltus shook his head and took off his headphones. "Unfortunately I'm preoccupied with other things, I have to rendezvous with a foreign delegation at the train station soon," Petrov nodded in acknowledgment and gathered up his hat and coat, looking a bit disappointed. "You know I would if I could, Petrov." "I am aware. Well then, until next time Voltus." "Until then." Replied the Tsar, he had a long night ahead of him. [center]--------------------[/center] [i]9:30PM (0 VMT), Imperial Rail Terminal, Verveaux[/i] Tick. Tick Tick. Voltus sat at a bench under one of the station clocks, taping his foot in time with the strokes of the clock. The rain had not let up, it poured and poured and was relentless in it's efforts to drench everything, though thankful the interior of the station was dry. Dotted along the length of the platform were members of the royal guard, dressed in full uniform and fully armed, their steeds neighing and strolling around the open interior of the station, eating potted plants and otherwise being polite, or rather as polite as horses could be. Voltus himself was wearing a white trench coat, looking a bit drenched from riding in the rain, his white hair was plastered to his face and an uncomfortable amount of water had gathered within his boots; though he didn't let how water logged he was deter him and as he heard the nearing whistle of the train, he rose form the bench. "Gentlemen, mount your steeds, the Princess is here." he himself had arrived on horse back, but as tradition dictated, he would have the guest of honor ride his horse back to the palace. He produced a wide black umbrella from where it was tucked under his arm and as the train pulled into the station, smoothed back his hair, "Formation!" he barked and they formed two rows on either side of where the door would be. Though on the outside he appeared calm, inside anxieties bubbled, the princess would be his first visiting dignitary and he wanted everything to be perfect. "Just be yourself." he mumbled as the train ground to a halt. [b]Footnotes:[/b] 1. "Tired?" 2. "Darling..." 3. "What does this say, darling?" 4. "Come on, what does it say?" 5. Tzan: An archaic Ventian dialect, considered to be a precursor language to Ventian. 6. "Who knew a Tsar could be such an asshole?"